‘No, thanks.’ Amy gave a tight smile and went to close the door, but his booted foot halted it. ‘Excuse me!’ was Amy’s brittle response.
‘You don’t understand,’ Emir said, but he did remove his boot. ‘That is why I came personally—to explain things to you. The Queen is hosting the party. It is the Queen who has requested you to come down, not me. It would be rude …’
‘Rude for who?’ Amy responded—because she did not want to go down there, did not want to be Natasha’s little project for the night. She particularly did not want to spend any more time with Emir than she had to—things were already difficult enough.
Now he was at her door, and she could feel the cool wetness of her gown, knew from the flick of his eyes downwards that he had seen it too—that she might just as well not be wearing it. She was frantic to have him gone.
‘It’s rude to give me a night off and then revoke it!’ She went to close the door again, did not want to prolong this discussion.
Emir would not let things be, and unless she slammed the door in his face she’d have to stand there and listen as he spoke on.
‘If the twins were awake you would be expected to bring them down.’
‘The twins are not in my care tonight.’
‘That is not the point.’ Emir’s voice was stern. He was less than impressed with Amy’s behaviour—especially as a maid came into the corridor and bowed her head to him. He stood there bristling with indignation as she went in and retrieved Amy’s dinner tray. ‘It is not right for me to be seen standing here and arguing with …’
‘An employee?’ she finished for him. But she accepted it was not fitting behaviour, and once the maid had gone she held the door further open for him. ‘I have nothing to wear to a party. I haven’t showered. I’m not ready …’
‘That is being taken care of.’ He blocked her excuses as Natasha had blocked his. ‘Queen Natasha is having some clothes and some maidens sent here to your room.’ He turned to go. ‘I expect you to be down there within half an hour.’
‘Emir …’
There was a plea in her voice, a plea he had heard once before—the sound of her begging. He remembered her writhing beneath him and he hardly dared turn around.
‘Don’t make me do this. Go and enjoy the party on your own—make an excuse for me that is fitting. I don’t know anything about …’
‘Enjoy it?’ He did turn around then, and he wished she were dressed—wished she looked anything other than she did now. For the gown was completely see-through. Three triangles taunted him. He could see the hard peaks of her nipples, see the flush on her neck. He should not be in this room with her for a whole set of reasons other than protocol. ‘You will get dressed.’
When still she shook her head, he lost his temper. He spoke harsh angry words. It was far safer than pushing her onto the bed.
‘You really think that I want to be down there? You really think that I’m enjoying making small talk, pretending that I do not hate them? If it were not for them …’
His black eyes met hers, as angry and savage as they had been the day she had first challenged him, but it did not scare her as it had then. His anger was not aimed at her, nor his words, Amy was quite sure. This would not be of his choosing, for this remote, private man to pour some of the pain out.
‘Amy, please …’
Not once had he pleaded, not once that she knew of, and this came with a roar from the heart.
‘I am asking you to please make this night easier for me—I am in hell down there.’
And he was. He was in hell tonight and no one knew. He could not share his burden; he carried it alone for he was King. He remembered his status and was ashamed of his words, his loss of control. But there was no smart retort from Amy. This time she stood stunned, as he was at his revelation, and he could see tears pooling in her eyes. She had glimpsed a little of his pain.
It was not that her mouth found his, nor was it his mouth which sought hers. Neither initiated the kiss. They simply joined, and he felt the bliss of oblivion. The pain ended for a moment and relief was instant. There was release and escape as her wet body pressed to his. He had craved her since that night, had wanted her each minute, and her tongue as it twisted with his, the heat of her skin through the damp gown, told him she had craved him as much.
She had.
His uniform was rough beneath her fingers, his mouth desperate on hers, his erection as fierce as his passion. She could feel him hard in her centre. It was happening again and it must not.
‘Emir,’ she whimpered, pulling her mouth back from his, though she did not want him to stop kissing her. Her lips ached for more as they moved from his. Regretting their departure, they returned, speaking into his mouth. ‘We said just once.’
‘Then get dressed,’ he said, and his hands peeled off the damp robe, and his fingers worked the knot at the back of her bikini.
She moaned in his mouth as he stroked the aching peaks; his hands moved to her bottom and he pulled her up till her legs twined around him. This was way more than a kiss getting out of hand. The bed seemed an impossible distance, clothes their only barrier.
She felt the cold of brass buttons on her skin as he kissed her onto the bed, pulling at the damp bikini while his other hand moved to unbuckle his belt. And Amy realised her hands were helping his, for she was through with thinking. She could make decisions later, could work things out then. Right now she simply had to have him.
And she would have.
He would have had her.
Had the bell not rung again.
He looked down at where she lay, a breath away from coming. Regret was in both their eyes—not just at the interruption, but at what had taken place.
‘That didn’t just happen,’ Amy said. Except it had. And now, even more so than before, it was impossible for her to stay.
No longer could their night in the desert be put down to a one-off. The attraction between them was undeniable and yet soon he would be taking a wife.
‘It won’t happen again,’ Emir said.
They both knew he was lying.
He buckled up his belt, took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. He checked his appearance in the mirror and then called to open the door. He watched as maidens bought in an array of clothing. He told them that Amy was in the shower and they must quickly prepare her to be brought down, and then he called out to her where she sat, crouched and shivering on the bathroom floor.
‘You will get ready quickly.’ He spoke as a king would when addressing a belligerent servant. He tried to remember his place and so too must she. ‘Queen Natasha is waiting for you.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘TOMORROW we leave for the desert.’
Natasha was irritating. She insisted on chatting as if they were old friends. And yet, Emir conceded, he would find any conversation annoying now, for his mind was only on Amy and what had just taken place.
Fool, he said to himself. Fool for not resisting. Fool for being weak.
And fool because tonight he would take her, only to lose her again in the morning.
Only to have her leave.
‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Natasha persisted with their one-way conversation. ‘After all the celebrations and pomp surrounding the birth, it will be nice to get some peace.’
Now Emir did respond—and very deliberately he chose to get things wrong. ‘I’m sure that the Bedouins will take good care of him.’ He saw the flare of horror in Natasha’s eyes.
‘Oh, it’s not for that. It’s way too soon to even think of being parted from him. That doesn’t have to happen until he turns one.’
‘Before he turns one,’ Emir said, enjoying one pleasure in this night.
Two pleasures, he corrected, his mind drifting to Amy again. But he must stay focussed. He must concentrate on the conversation rather than anticipating her arrival, rather then remembering what had just happened. And perhaps it was time to give Natasha a taste of the medicine he
had so recently sampled.
‘I handed over the girls last week. Your husband was kind enough to grant a concession that they only stay in the desert for one night, given what happened to their mother.’ He watched Natasha’s lips tighten as he reminded her, none too gently, that her son would be in the desert for several nights—unless, of course, he lost his mother too. Unless he was forced to be weaned early, as Emir’s daughters had been.
‘How did the girls get on?’ Natasha attempted to make it sound like a polite enquiry, as if she were asking after the girls rather than about what she could expect for her own son.
Emir knew that—it was the reason he didn’t mollify her with his response. ‘They screamed, they wept and they begged,’ Emir said, watching as her face grew paler with each passing word. ‘But they are the rules.’ Emir shrugged. ‘My daughters have been forced to be strong by circumstance, and so they survived it.’
He stopped twisting the knife then—not to save her from further distress, but because at that moment it seemed to Emir that everything simply stopped.
He had wondered far too often what Amy might look like out of that robe—he had pictured her not just in her nightdress, or naked beneath him, but dressed as his Queen.
She stepped into that vision now and claimed it, and deep in his gut a knife twisted.
She was dressed in a dark emerald velvet gown, her lips painted red and her eyes skilfully lined with kohl. Her hair was down. But nothing, not even the work of a skilled make-up artist, could temper the glitter in her eyes and the blush of her cheeks that their kiss had evoked. A riot of ringlets framed her face.
The world was cruel, Emir decided, for it taunted him with what he could not have. It showed him exactly how good it could have been, had the rules allowed her to join him, to be at his side.
Little more than a year ago she would have been veiled and hidden. A year ago he would not have had to suffer the tease of her beauty. But there was a new Sheikha Queen in Alizirz and times were changing.
Amy was changing.
Before his eyes, as she chatted with Natasha, he witnessed the effortless seduction of her body. For even as she turned slightly away from him her gestures seemed designed for him. She threw her head back and laughed, and then, as he knew it would, her hand instinctively moved to cover the scar on her throat. She twisted her hair around her fingers and he fought his desire to snake a hand around her waist. He wanted to join in the conversation as he would with a partner, to squeeze her waist just once to remind her that soon it would be over and soon they would be alone.
He put down the glass he was gripping rather than break it.
He turned away, but her laughter filled his ears.
Emir tried to remember the shy woman who had first entered the palace. He had not noticed her—or at least not in that way. His mind had been too consumed with worry for his wife, who had been fading by the day, for him to notice Amy. He wanted that back. He wanted the invisible woman she had been then.
But she wasn’t invisible now.
She was there before his eyes.
And for her he might not be King.
‘Thank you so much for coming down.’ Natasha kissed Amy’s cheek an agonising couple of hours later. ‘It was lovely to talk.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ Amy said. ‘Thank you for the invitation.’
She meant not a word.
And neither did Emir as he too politely thanked Rakhal and headed to the stairs.
She could not do this.
She stepped out into a fragrant garden, breathed in the blossom and begged it to quell the hammering of her mind. She listened to the fountain that should soothe. Except it did not, for she understood now a little of what Emir had meant about being in hell.
To stand apart while their minds were together, to ignore the other while their bodies silently screamed, was a potent taste of what might be to come when he married.
If she stayed.
Her fury was silent as she walked to her room, but she knew what she had to do. Her eyes took in the empty bed, but the scent of him confirmed that he was there. She saw that the doors were open and looked beyond them to where he stood by the pool. His jacket was undone and his eyes met hers. She shook her head, for forbidden lovers they must not be.
‘ No.’
Brave in her decision, she walked towards him, her anger building as she did so, reminding herself of all she did not admire about this man. She tried to dull the passion he triggered, determined that it be over.
‘I’m through with this, Emir.’ She made herself say it. ‘I don’t even like you.’
He simply looked.
His silence let her speak.
‘I could never be with a man willing to ignore his children—despite my health problems, despite the fact I can’t have children. Even without that I’d never have said yes.’ She was lying, she could hear it, but her mind begged for it to be true. ‘How can I love a man who doesn’t care about his children?’
She watched his eyes narrow. Perhaps this was not the conversation he’d been expecting. It was a mistress he wanted, Amy reminded herself, not an argument about his children. But her racing heart surely stopped for a moment when his low voice delivered a response she was not expecting.
‘Never say that.’
She thought he might throw the drink he was holding in her face. He might just as well have, because nothing could have shocked her more than the passion in his voice when his next words were delivered.
‘I love my children.’
Except his actions did not show it, even if his words sounded true.
‘You say that …’
‘Trust that I have my daughters’ best interests at heart.’
And she looked at his pain ravaged face and into eyes that glittered with the flames of hell. Somehow she did trust him. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she did believe him.
What did this man do to her? she begged of herself.
‘Please, Emir, go.’
She could not think when he was around; she lost herself when he was near.
‘Go,’ she said, and walked to the bedroom.
‘Go.’ She sobbed as still by the pool he stood.
And she knew it was hopeless. For to leave he would have to walk past her, and not to touch would be an impossible ask.
‘Go.’ She begged, even as she undressed for him, crying with shame at her own need.
She pulled down the zipper, slipped off the gown as he walked now towards her, her actions opposing her words as she removed her bra. Emir unbuckled his belt while entering the bedroom. Even then she shook her head. Even then she denied it as she took down her panties.
‘No …’ She changed her plea. She was sobbing as he kissed her down onto the bed, but she was grateful for the mattress that met her back for she got the gift of his full weight pressed into her. ‘We mustn’t …’ She pushed at his bare chest but her fingers attempted to grip his skin, her nails wanted to dig in and leave her mark. ‘Emir, you know that we mustn’t …’
He took her hands and captured her wrists, held them over her head and hungrily kissed her. Then with words he fought for what they both needed tonight. ‘We must.’
His words were truthful, and he was fierce. Even naked he ruled her as he told her that he would make it work.
‘We will be together …’
‘There is no way …’
‘I will find a way,’ he told her. ‘I will make this work. I will come to you in the night-time and in later years I will visit you and the girls in London.’
‘Your mistress …?’
‘More than a mistress,’ he said between frantic kisses. ‘You will care for the twins. You will raise them.’
Was it possible to love and hate at the same time?
To be filled with both want and loathing as he bound her to him, but with a life of lies?
He offered her everything, yet gave her nothing.
A life with no voice, Amy realised
, and it was then that she found hers.
‘ No.’
His hands released their grip but she did not push him off. Instead she wrapped her arms around his back. ‘This ends tonight.’
Their bodies knew that she lied.
All night he had been wanting her, and all night she had been waiting for him. They met now and their kisses tasted of fury for the future they could not have. She felt his anger as he stabbed inside her—anger at the rules that denied him the woman he wanted by his side. But for now there was an outlet, and he was animal. He bucked inside her and she lifted her hips to him. Their eyes locked in a strange loathing of what they might make the other do so easily. So easily she came to him.
And so deeply he delivered.
He knew she would shout. He felt her lungs fill and the tension in her throat as he shot into her; he felt her scream even as it rose, for his body and his soul knew her.
She came in a way she never had before, tightened in possession as he drove her further. She was grateful for his hand that smothered her mouth, furious that the only restraint he could muster was to stifle her screams with the hand she could never take.
She told herself she hated him.
Reminded herself she did not want to be his wife.
She was relieved it was over, surely?
They lay for a suitable while, waiting for normality to return, for the madness to subside, for him to rise from her bed and head to his own. But as he went to do so Amy’s hand reached out to him and it was then that she cried, for she had proved that she lied.
Her fierce vow that it would end tonight had already been downgraded to the morning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MORNING came whether she wanted it to or not.
The sun did not care that it ended them.
It did what it was born to—it rose and dictated that their time was over.
She knew Emir was awake next to her. She watched the fingers of light spread across the floor and before they reached the bed she felt his hand on her hip, then her waist. She closed her eyes as he tucked her body towards him, felt his erection and wanted to wake every morning to him. She did not want to be a woman who settled for a slice of his life—didn’t want to fit into allocated times. Yet had the phone not rung Amy knew that she would have.
Beholden to the Throne Page 9
